by Hodge, Sibel
‘What does it say?’ I said. ‘Are they asking for a doctor or something?’.
‘It says, “Dear Maid, I am experiencing a problem with the mini-bar selection. You have placed mild curry flavour condoms in there, and I really wanted spicy flavour. I will use the mild flavour condoms under duress, but can you please supply ten spicy flavour packets. If you have no spicy flavour, do you have any cheese and pickle? Thank you.”’ Ayshe glanced up at us, her own look of horror mirroring ours. ‘What the hell are they up to in there? They’re supposed to be ill.’
Kalem pulled a lemon-sucking face and banged on the door. ‘I don’t know. But I’m not asking them.’
‘Me neither,’ Atila said. ‘Gross.’
‘I’ll just stay out here in case it’s catching.’ Ayshe hovered outside the door.
‘Dad? Mum? How are you?’ Kalem banged on the door.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Deniz’s voice said from the other side.
I heard a shuffling sound, and Deniz swung the door open, wearing a dressing gown. He looked rough. His normally olive skin had turned clammy and pasty.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
Deniz wandered back inside the room and climbed into bed. ‘Well, I’ve had eight bowel movements and three projectile vomits today.’
Ew, too much information, thanks.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Ayshe asked from outside the door.
‘In the loo. Again. The good news, I suppose, is that the doctor has confirmed that it’s food poisoning and not something catching. So you can all come in if you want,’ Deniz shouted.
‘Oh, OK.’ I took small steps inside as Kalem, Ayshe, and Atila followed, hovering at the bottom of the beds.
‘I’ll kill whoever gave me that fish. Unless I die first.’ Deniz sank his head back on the pillow. ‘And if the fish doesn’t finish me off, I’m going to die of boredom, stuck in here. Have you got any girly magazines?’
I was swallowing at the time, and I nearly choked. Let’s just say that Deniz had always been unconventional and very un-PC. I didn’t think he could actually say anything that shocked me anymore, but that did. ‘Erm…girly magazines?’
Kalem shook his head to himself.
‘Dad, I think you’re getting a bit old for that!’ Ayshe reprimanded him. ‘And anyway, you should be taking it easy if you’ve got food poisoning.’
‘I am taking it easy, but I’m bored. I’ve been stuck in here, and all I’ve had to read are your mother’s girly magazines, but I’ve finished those now. They’re actually quite enlightening.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m discovering lots of interesting things in these magazines that I never knew before. So, come on, then, have you got any? What are they called? Neopolitan? Mary Cary?’
And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, you mean Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire?’
‘Yes.’ He held up a finger in acknowledgement. ‘Any of those. I need something to stop the boredom and get my mind off toilets.’
‘I’ve got an OK! Magazine you can have,’ I said.
‘I’ve got Cosmo, and Charlie’s got a couple of women’s mags you can have,’ Ayshe said.
‘Have you got any condoms?’ Deniz asked us. ‘I’ve run out.’
Kalem put his hands over his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen.
‘Do you think it’s wise, you know…doing…when you’re ill?’ Atila said, looking simultaneously horrified and uncomfortable.
Yasmin emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was sticking out in all directions, as if she’d been tossing and turning all night, and her cheeks had a bit of a greenish tinge.
‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ Ayshe asked.
She climbed into bed. ‘Your father is annoying me.’ Yasmin sighed, sounding tired. ‘And I don’t even have the energy to slap him.’
Deniz pulled an over-innocent face. ‘What? All I said was could I have an intravenous drip of whisky to help me recover. What’s wrong with that?’
****
Kalem and I drove out of Kyrenia (single carriageway road) passing lots of five-star hotels, shops, and villas along the main road. There was a mixture of traditional Cypriot styled flat-roofed houses and sparkly new whitewashed villas with pools. No large superstore supermarkets so far, but plenty of individual little butchers, furniture shops, off-licences, petrol stations, roadside stalls selling colourful and ripe-looking fruit and veg, and odd assorted little shops. I particularly liked the off-licences. It meant I could buy lots of wine. God, did I need it at the moment.
Nestled up in the mountains, about four miles out of town, lay the quaint village of Bellapais. The Land Rover climbed a hill with some ginormous luxury villas set in acres of abundant gardens on either side.
I let out a slow whistle.
‘This is the new part of Bellapais. It’s supposed to be the Beverly Hills of North Cyprus,’ Kalem said.
‘Beverlypais. Ooh, I like that.’ Well, this looked pretty chic and cosmopolitan to me. Maybe I could handle this simple life after all.
We rounded a corner and were granted spectacular views of the old colonial style village to our left. The Abbey, surrounded by palm and fir trees, rose up from its mountain ledge like some kind of gothic apparition.
We followed the narrow, winding road into the village until it forked. To the left, I could see the village square and the amazingly well-preserved ruins of the Abbey in all its splendour. The right led to some even narrower streets that didn’t even look big enough to fit a car through. It looked like the village that time had forgotten. In front of the fork was an ancient-looking mulberry tree and some lovely open-air bistros.
‘That’s the famous Tree of Idleness.’ Kalem pointed at the mulberry tree as we drove towards the car park. ‘Ancient folklore says that if you sit under the tree you’ll become lazy and won’t want to work anymore. The folklore goes on to say that because of the tree, the villagers of Bellapais live for so long that even the gravedigger was put out of a job.’
I got out of the car, surveying the scenery.
Oh, my God! I thought I was going to faint. I couldn’t believe how amazing it was. Charlie was right.
The magical twelfth century abbey, with its masterpiece in architecture and panoramic views over the glistening Mediterranean, was saturated with a sense of peace and tranquillity so powerful I could almost taste it. Nestled in between lush velvety grass, fragrant jasmine and greenery, it was the perfect place for a wedding.
‘Close your mouth.’ Kalem grinned at me.
I finally regained working control of my jaw. ‘It’s fantastic!’ I wrapped my arms around his waist and gazed at the views. ‘Why haven’t you brought me here before?’ I rested my head on his chest.
‘Because we only arrived yesterday, and we’ve been a bit busy trying to sort out suitcases and crooks.’
‘No. I mean before that.’
‘Because we’ve only officially been a couple for the last six months?’
‘Well, yes, but that’s just a technicality.’
‘Mum and Dad asked you loads of times if you’d come on summer holidays here with us when you were little, but you never wanted to.’
‘OK, another technicality.’
He slipped his hand in mine. ‘Come on. Let’s get a ticket for the Abbey.’
****
After touring the arched corridors, refectory, common rooms, and chapter house of the Abbey, I left with a sense of serenity like nothing I’d ever experienced before. We headed back past Beverlypais and carried on along the main road, heading towards Deniz and Yasmin’s house.
‘There!’ I pointed to a tiny supermarket that looked like it wouldn’t even cover a tenth of the floor space in our old supermarket back home. ‘Let’s see what kind of supplies they’ve got.’
We parked up in the minuscule car park, and I approached the supermarket like a secret shopper from a consumer magazine, making mental notes in my head...
North Cyprus Supermarket:
Car park for about twenty
cars.
Fresh and organic fruit and veg. Appearance: Lovely looking, ripe, colourful, natural. Some specimens are a bit odd shaped – a potato shaped like a heart (how cute), giant tomatoes, knobbly bent carrots, weird things that look like white willies (just been told they are a Turkish sweet potato).
Sells basic food and drink. The essentials, I suppose. No Finest Range, but nice wine, though. Small, but basic deli counter with fresh, delicious looking hot and cold Turkish mezes.
No custard creams!
No clothes!
No household items!
Estimated time to navigate around the store without stopping: two minutes.
Estimated time to navigate around the store with stopping: twenty minutes.
UK Supermarket:
Car park for about three hundred cars.
Limp, under ripe fruit and veg. All perfectly coloured (possibly painted with something to look nicer). Perfectly shaped as you’d expect – pointy carrots with no knobbles, round tomatoes and potatoes matching the potato and tomato circumference tests, etc.
Sells everything: food and drink, clothes, household and gardening goods, stationery, electrical equipment, cards. Huge deli counter (you’d never have to cook a meal again if you didn’t want to).
Biscuit heaven.
Huge range of clothes.
Estimated time to navigate around the store without stopping: thirty-five minutes.
Estimate time to navigate around the store with stopping: three days.
Well, not quite what I was expecting. Maybe it would mean that I just couldn’t get everything under one roof like I was used to. Maybe I’d just have to stop at three of four supermarkets to do my weekly shop. And how long would that take? I knew I’d have to sacrifice a bit of convenience for living in the sun, but honestly, a weekly shop could now take me a whole week to complete, like a kind of shopping Krypton Factor Challenge. And by then the week would be over, and I’d have to do it all again as soon as I set foot back in the house with my bags.
‘Well, that’s got everything we need.’ Kalem smiled at me as we headed back to the car.
‘Mmm.’ I forced a smile back.
****
After about fifteen minutes we took a left turn off the main road, heading towards the coast. I was used to the busy Motorways of the UK, but this was like we were the last few remaining people on earth, with hardly any traffic at all.
I gazed out the window at the sea to my left and the rolling, scorched fields to my right, covered in olive and carob trees. Further on, the Kyrenia mountain range was more visible. A range that swept from West to East, smothered with pine and fir trees.
‘That’s Five Finger Mountain.’ Kalem pointed to a section of the mountain, towering into the distance, as we sped by.
‘It looks more like Five Stubby Knuckle Mountain.’
‘There are a couple of legends about the name of the mountain. One of them says that a Byzantine hero called Dighenis jumped on the island of Cyprus to escape from the Arabs. As he grabbed hold of the mountain, he left the mark of his fingers there. Another legend said it was a giant who grabbed hold of it.
‘You’re not far from history and legends anywhere on this island, are you?’ I said, beginning to appreciate the allure of the place. Would definitely add to my list.
‘All of this mountain range is fantastic for hiking. Just wait till I get you up in those hills.’ He gave me a seductive grin.
The open window blasted me with hot air, warm rays, and a gorgeous pungent aroma of orange and lemon blossom from the orchards we passed. As we got further away from Kyrenia, we passed a golf course (must also add to my list as modern and sophisticated things) and several new beachside apartment complexes, interspersed with a vast expanse of undeveloped land. The whole journey gave me a feeling of space and light that I’d forgotten actually existed. After living in the UK all my life, where the sky is normally grey, black-grey, and a kind of bluish-grey, with houses crammed into every possible piece of land, it made such a refreshing change. It was like drinking in sunshine, giving me a buzz of energy. I seriously needed that at the moment to counteract the buzz of pure terror that I’d been feeling.
‘I think we turn right here.’ I re-read the map and directions that Deniz had scribbled on the back of Cosmo magazine for us.
‘I don’t recognize any of this. It’s changed so much since the last time I was here. I can’t even remember what the house looks like.’ Kalem turned off the main road and onto a more windy one that snaked uphill.
Half way up the hill we had to stop the car to let a procession of goats and sheep cross the road, like a countryside version of a traffic jam. They stared at us like they’d never seen a car before. The weird thing was that the goats actually looked the same as the sheep. The facial features were identical, and the only real difference was that the sheep looked like they’d just had a perm, whereas the goats were more into hair straighteners.
I watched them meander from one side of the road to the other, bells jangling around their necks, baaing and bleating away. Did they speak the same language? And if so, was it Geep or Shoat dialect?
‘Wow. It’s so…’ I struggled for a word.
‘Simple?’ He winked at me. ‘Now you know what I mean about wanting the simple things in life. This is what getting back to basics is all about. It’s like the UK was fifty years ago, before we became obsessed with convenience – everything’s on a much smaller scale here.’ He paused, grinning at me. ‘You know, if you think about it, the shops in the UK are saturated with lots of stuff that you just don’t need. Life here is much more straightforward with individual little shops selling essentials. Because of the inter-communal problems between Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots and the division of the island, North Cyprus has a remoteness and unspoiled quality with more of a culture about using what you already have and living off the land, instead of buying everything new.’
Yes, that was all very well, but I liked stuff. I know, I know, call me shallow and materialistic, but it was what I was used to. OK, maybe having fifty-six pairs of shoes and twenty-three handbags was going a tad overboard, but a girl had to be prepared for all possible eventualities. It made sense, didn’t it?
‘Here they have a slower pace of life so everyone has more time for each other,’ Kalem carried on. ‘We’ll have less stress. It’s cheaper, and you’ve got sunshine most of the year. Just the simple life. With less crime as well.’
Yes, unless you counted assassinating a businessman and stealing a priceless sculpture.
‘How about that for organic then?’ Kalem nodded towards the animals.
I gazed at them as they wandered around, nibbling the ground here and there as the fancy took them. Either some of them had missed out on their daily milking sessions or there was a Pamela Anderson fan club amongst the sheep and goat world of North Cyprus, because their udders were huge! Poor things. Some of their udders were nearly dragging on the ground and looked severely painful. Ouch.
‘What’s happening?’ I pointed to one of the goats who looked like she’d overstuffed herself on the olives. ‘Why’s she making so much noise?’
The goat collapsed onto her side, making funny noises. ‘Oh! Is she going to die? Maybe her udders are about to explode with milk, or she’s eaten too much. Goats do that, don’t they? I read about one who ate so much it popped.’ I grabbed the door handle. ‘We have to help her. I don’t want any exploding, popping goats on my watch.’
Kalem chuckled. ‘She’s not going to explode. She’s just pregnant. And if we stay really quiet, you might just see her kid being born.’
In ten minutes, I witnessed the goat give birth to a tiny, wrinkly little baby, covered in blood and goo. As soon as it was born, mummy goat licked it clean and gently nudged it with her nose, encouraging it to stand up. About another fifteen minutes later, the baby attempted to stand on wobbly legs.
‘You see, you wouldn’t get this in the UK, would you?’ Kalem said.
He shifted the Land Rover into gear, leaving mummy and baby to enjoy each other as we drove up the windy hill with houses dotted here and there.
I glanced at the handwritten directions that Deniz had scrawled for us on the back of Cosmo. ‘Well, the house number is fifteen, so we’re nearly there. There’s fourteen. And,’ I sat up in my seat, craning my neck for the first glimpse of what would be our new home in paradise. ‘Oh,’ I let out an involuntary sigh, because coming into view was a dilapidated, ancient looking square building. It wasn’t anything like the modern style villas I’d seen on the journey here, with a pool, whitewashed walls, wooden shutters, and sandstone arches. It was…well, the only way I could describe it was a wreck.
On the upside, it had four walls and a roof. On the downside, it didn’t have much else going for it. The house stood on an overgrown piece of land, littered with what looked like years’ worth of weeds. There was even the skeleton of a dead goat near the front of the building. I didn’t know if it had died of natural causes or the shock of seeing such a scary house.
The open shutters hung precariously from the windows, peeling paint curling up from their surfaces. The windows were covered in grime and dust, giving the whole place a spooky, haunted house feel. A porch of sorts had been strung together out of rusty iron, and the only thing with any life in it, a brilliant pink bougainvillea bush, climbed out of control over the top of it.
‘How long did you say it’s been since your mum and dad stayed here?’ I asked, stepping out of the car.
I cupped my hands around my eyes to shield them from the glaring sunshine. Maybe it was a peculiar mirage. Or a trick of the light, even. I squeezed my eyes shut. Slowly, I opened one. Then the other. Damn. Not a mirage. It was still there, in all its state of disrepair.